Adele finished picking up her paintings, oblivious to whatever Chase had said at first. "-can't hold a decent conversation with the opposite sex," he was saying now, and the girl opened her mouth to apologize but he didn't seem to be done. Again. "Dinner.... Me?" She was a bit puzzled, but this time around he didn't seem to hear her and continued. "'Je t'aime'... that means I love you. 'Nice de vous répondre' would be what you're looking for." He was rambling again, she noticed, and she heard the familiar German escape from his lips and smiled. "Ich werde dich um sieben zu sehen," she replied before laughing at his expression. "I told you, most French are multi-lingual."

[IMGLEFT]http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/16700000/Neal-Caffrey-scarletwitch-16716153-100-100.jpg[/IMGLEFT] [IMGLEFT]http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:U3p7g5ectT4LWM:http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2010/260/6/2/neal_caffrey_icon_by_dooona-d2yx717.png&t=1[/IMGLEFT] [IMGLEFT]http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/15500000/Neal-neal-caffrey-15585344-100-100.jpg[/IMGLEFT] "Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle. Mais je crois que cela vous appartient." As Neal handed a beautiful young woman her scarf, his devious fingers pick-pocketed her wallet. With it now in his possession, he would be able to, finally, get something to eat. Neal was looking for an up-scale restaurant to flaunt his money around at, but he was having a hard time coming up with the exact amount of change. Mr. Gillette had no interest in spending his own money. Who in there right mind would? Especially if they were talented enough to steal from those around them.

Pour toi, mon amour, he said handing a woman a bouquet of roses. Tipping the florist as he walked by, Neal's eyes were torn between two paths. Would he pay a visit to the book store and get his hands on some rare copies? Or would he press his luck and steal a famous painting?

Walking up to a man who looked rushed, Neal smiled. "Excuser mon intrusion, mais j'ai besoin de votre aide. Ce que doit j'obtiens ma femme. Les fleurs ou l'art? N'importe quelles pensées, mon ami?" When he saw the male stare blankly at him, Neal tried another language. Blumen oder Kunst? Welcher sollte ich für meine Ehefrau erhalten?"

"Oh," Chase said looking at the male before him. "Warum sie beide nicht erhält?"

"Welche Art Kunst? Ein Buch oder ein Gemälde?" Neal frowned before shaking his head. "Your German is rusty. Do you speak English?"

"Sorry about that. I've been polluted by the American language." Chase pushed back his golden locks and looked the blue-eyed male in the eyes. "But, if I were to guess, I would say art. You appear to be an upper-class male. I'll assume your wife is the same. Besides, books only collect dust. Art can be admired while collecting dust." His eyes shifted down to his watch. "I'm sorry, my friend. But I must go. Good luck. I'm sure whichever you select will make her very happy."

With Chase out of sight, Neal's devilish smirk widened. "Painting shop, here I come. Prepare to meet the infamous Neal Gillette."

Outside the shop, Neal pressed his face against the glass. "Dammit! It's closed?" Grinning, his hand fell into his pocket. Good thing I brought my lock-picking kit. Ha ha!

Adele followed Chase to the door and watched him leave before closing it again, then returning to the desk to unlock the doors from the outside. She dug around in her pockets for her name tag, then realizing that while she knew his name - hell, he'd wrote it on the check, and it was on his card - he probably didn't know her's. She shook her head and sat behind the counter, watching the clock, thinking of somewhere they could meet up.

As the Aha! moment came, Adele was already dialing the number to where he said he would be, and called the extension 587. He didn't answer, and that didn't suprise her one bit, and she hung up to redial the next extension, 501. "Bonjour? Hello?" she asked, flaunting her French accent. She spoke with Analee, his boss, and told her everything Chase needed to know. They hung up, and Adele saw a man at the door, doing something with the lock.

Quickly, Adele rushed to the front and yanked the door open, stopping whatever he was doing. "Mais qu'est-ce que tu fais?" She stared him down - or up, if you please, for he was much taller than her - and took a deep breath. "Excusez-moi monsieur, mais il semble que vous avez essayé de crochetage de la porte." She opened the door wider, and stepped out of the way, letting him in. She immediately thought that she was in the hands of a thief, but let it go. Maybe he was just seeing if it was open or not. Who knew? She was glad that the paintings on the floor only looked costly, and were actually pretty cheap. The lock to the back door couldn't be locked... and for that she was glad.

Neal looked up at the woman with a dumbfound expression. "Om jag verkligen plockade denna dörrs lås, skulle du inte ha vetat. En sann tjuv jagar på natt." His blue eyes jumped up to look into hers. "Mi ez? Nem hiszed?" Neal figured that, if he continued to hammer out languages to her, she would eventually get confused as to what he was saying. "Chytrá žena. Protože já jsem zloděj." He blinked and smiled. "Mutta en etsi jotakin. Ei nyt." Shaking his head, Neal stepped back. "Kanskje skal jeg komme tilbake når du er ikke her?"

"Verstehen Sie? Nein? Welche Sprache sprechen Sie?" His wild blue eyes looked down at the floor. "English?" Neal was pretending he didn't speak French, but he was actually very fluent in it. "Listen, I wasn't trying to pick a lock or anything. I was just seeing if you were open. I can't read your sign, so I wasn't sure if that was open or closed. I guess, from the looks of it, you're open?"

Cussing to himself, Neal looked about at the artwork. Nothing here worth stealing. These are all either sloppy copies or cheap pieces of work. Perhaps I should have went to the bookstore....

Adele sighed as he hammered on languages to her. "Ich spreche Deutsch, Je parle français, I mluvit česky, Jag pratar svenska, as well as English. My mother was German and French, and my father was Czech. They taught me each language one at a time - French, German, and then Czech, which I have the most problems with. I learned Swedish of my own accord, many years later. And yes, we are open, but you are not allowed inside, sir thief." Adele looked into his eyes as she spoke, making sure he understood every single word she was saying. She allowed her eyes to look him over, and found that he was actually very attractive. He had a lovely blue eye color that reminded her of the ocean, and his deep brown hair looked so soft that she had to stop herself before she reached out and touched it. His cheekbones weren't high, but they were prominent nonetheless - he had the perfect features to sketch. Her hands itched to trace every line of his face and shade every curve and shadow.

"Remember that most French are multi-lingual, and you never know what other languages they speak," she said, trying to keep an edge to her voice. She closed the door and locked it, looking at him through the glass and waiting for him to go away. She was glad that the more expensive pieces had been sold that day, though they were going to put out more tonight, when the shop closed. She knew that there was a gate that went over the glass doors to protect them, as well as the glass being double-paned and bulletproof, but she couldn't shake a weird feeling that he would probably get in anyway.

Adele sighed and turned away from the man, walking back to the counter. She hadn't heard much of what he'd said because of the glass, but gave him no attention. She had heard his poetry, though, and she had to admit that it was one of the prettier pieces she had heard or read. She opened her sketchbook, and though she saw the man leaving, his face was stuck in her mind enough to sketch out his features. She saved his eyes for last - there was something about them that shook her, and they held almost a delicate expression.

By the time she realized what time it was, it was well past six thirty. She locked the back door and then the front as she rushed out, her notebook hanging out of the crook in her arm. She pulled down the gate in the front of the store and locked it, then checking her watch. "Je suis en retard!" She rushed to her apartment, making it there before seven. "Tout ce que l'homme a été pour moi, c'est mal!" She screamed as she readied herself, then, on a quick decision to keep her hair down, left the apartment as fast as she could, leaving behind her notebook, of course. Luckily, the place where she and Chase were eating was down the street. It was seven o' clock now. She hoped he would be there.

By the time Anissa got back it was already dark and she had about an hour before she had to head to the club to set up. Closing the door behind her she unhooked Tak and went to get ready, 40 minutes later after a quick shower and outfit change she was ready to head out. Walking into the kitchen Anissa filled up the dog’s food and water bowl before grabbing her purse and rolling luggage, which contained much of her DJing equipment. The rest would be at club Pink Moon a place famous for its house music. Tonight she was DJing two set at two hours each one from 9pm-11pm and another from 1am-3am. Checking her watch she noticed that she had better start walking or else she would be late. Grabbing her keys she walked out of the loft and locked the door behind her.

On her walk Anissa passed several places on in which was the bookstore she was in earlier, the art shop, and a fancy restaurant that she never once set foot in. For the most part those types of places didn’t suit Anissa for she much rather go to a bar or to some fast-food place to eat. Now she was about 5 minutes away from the club but she could already here the music playing.